


Child of God

by TheRiverScribe



Series: By the Grace of God [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Sam Winchester, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Anxiety Attacks, De-Aged Sam Winchester, Enochian, Fledglings, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer's Cage, Post-Episode: s11e23 Alpha and Omega, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Repressed Memories, Team as Family, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8164687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRiverScribe/pseuds/TheRiverScribe
Summary: After accepting Chuck's offer of healing, Sam wakes knowing that there would be some changes.This was not what he expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Enochian is in BOLD

Sam was floating. 

He had no memory of ever feeling this light.  It was like drifting in zero gravity, or astral projection, or maybe a sensory deprivation tank.  Feelings of calm and love had eased his transition to consciousness and he allowed himself to bask in it for a moment.

His eyes opened and all calm immediately dispersed to make way for confusion and overwhelming ... _everything._   Too much light and color forced his eyes to slam shut again.  The hum of electricity fueling the ancient bunker's lighting and computer systems felt like a deafening roar.  The dust in the air tickled his nose and throat.  Blinking slowly, he squinted into the familiar room, trying to make sense of his own senses.  He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the light and froze.

This was _not_ his hand.  He turned it over several times and raised the left one to compare.  Neither of these hands were his even though they responded perfectly to his mental commands.  They were tiny. And pink. And not scarred.  And so tiny! 

His eyes focused past the hands to take in the pair of knobby knees poking out from beneath the hem of a giant white undershirt.  The knees connected to a pair of scrawny legs and also-tiny bare feet.  The toes wiggled on command and Sam found himself scrambling off the side of the bed to get away from the foreign body parts.

The sheet and blanket tangled around his torso as he moved and provided a small amount of cushion when he landed on the hard bunker floor.  The squeal of surprise and fear came out a few octaves too high.  Staring at the ceiling in confusion, he began to remember. 

Chuck.  Cas.  Blondie.  The Darkness.  Dean.

 _Dean.  Dean is alive!_   At that thought, excitement warred with the fear and confusion, and he quickly untangled himself to stand on shaky legs. 

“Whoa!” he stammered when he realized his head only reached about a foot above the mattress. 

The sound of a door opening and muffled voices made his head snap toward the hallway.  His heart jumped as he remembered Chuck's promise that Dean would be arriving soon, but there was no guarantee that who he was hearing right now was Dean.  He had trouble making out the voices over the hum of the lights, and he was too vulnerable in the small body to take any chances.  After a few attempts, he was able to get the knife he kept stashed under his pillow.  The weight felt foreign and excessive to his thin arms and his hands struggled to grip the too-large handle.

Tiptoeing barefoot down the hall, Sam made his way slowly toward the increasing sounds of movement and voices.  A woman's laugh made him stop and frown.  He was debating whether to continue or try hiding when a sense he had no name for flared up.  Something called to him, drawing him toward those invading the bunker. 

His feet moved without thought, though he remained cautious.  As he drew closer, he heard a voice he would recognize anywhere.  Of course, it didn't hurt that the voice was being belted at full volume.

“SAMMY!!  Oh, god Cas, there's blood everywhere!  What happened?  I thought you were going to protect him!  I was only gone for a few hours!!  SAMMY!”  Sam could hear the panic.  No, that wasn't quite right.  Sam could _feel_ the panic dripping from his brother's voice.  It hit him like his own and made him gasp.  He couldn't breathe around it.  The knife fell from his trembling fingers and the clatter echoed through the halls. 

“Dean, did you hear that?” the low rumble of Castiel's voice resonated in Sam's mind.  It sounded different, yet the same.  Like he was hearing layers or pitches overlapping the normal bass.  It triggered that same sensation from before, the one for which he had no name.  It tugged at him, but Dean's panic kept him from moving. 

Footsteps pounded across the floor, rapidly approaching his hallway.  Three people rounded the corner and stopped dead in their tracks when they caught sight of him.  The woman looked familiar, but Sam couldn't place where he'd seen her from.  It was the other two faces that mattered at the moment anyway.

 _Dean!_ Sam's mind screamed in joy and astonishment.  It was one thing to hear Chuck say his brother was safe and alive, it was another to actually see him.  However, their typical post- resurrection/near-death experience chick flick moment was put on hold.  Dean glared at him with a mixture of anger and panic and aggressive protective 'big-brother' mode. 

“What the fuck?” Dean stared in confusion before recognition and disbelief took over.  “Sammy?  Dude, what...?  Cas, what am I seeing here?  Am I crazy, or has my brother shrunk?”  A quick glance over to the Winchesters' angel tore Dean's attention away from Sam.  “Cas?” The concern in Dean's voice had Sam turning his gaze toward the angel as well.

Blue eyes, wide in amazement, were staring unblinking back at him.  And beyond the familiar figure of Castiel's vessel... _layers of grace and light and wings!_   Sam gasped at the massive black feathers that reflected every color—including some he couldn't name.  They shifted behind Castiel as he took a step toward Sam.  Dean's hand shot out and stopped him from going any closer.  “Wait,” he said without taking his eyes off his _very_ little brother, “Sam?  Is that you?”

Sam felt the suspicion pouring off his brother and he could only nod in response.  Apprehension filled him as the full implications of Chuck's actions hit home.  He had given no thought to how Dean would react.  _I'm not human._   _What if Dean doesn't trust me?  Oh God, I'm not human!  He's going to hate me.  What have I done?!_   Tears blinded him for a second, and when he saw the blurry figure of his brother start to move toward him Sam felt himself turn to run without thinking. 

He made it about three steps before he lost control of his feet.  This new body had so little mass—it was like trying to throw a leaf when you were expecting a stone!  Sam's body pitched forward just as he heard the roar of wings, and before he could slam into the ground enormous arms wrapped around his waist and chest.

Grace enveloped him and he was torn between an instinct that whispered _safety_ and the clear memory of how Lucifer and Michael's had burned.  A scream ripped from his throat as he tried to twist out of the hold.  “ **No! Sorry!  No no...** ” he pleaded, not realizing he was using the language he'd learned at the hands of the archangels. 

The arms refused to release him, but never tightened to painfully crush him as he expected.  A soft rustling brought a sensation of silk and warm rain as feathers brushed against his face and shoulders.  It muffled the roar of the Cage until he could make out a familiar voice in his ear.  “ **You are safe, Samuel.  Calm yourself, no one will hurt you here.  Everything is fine.  You are safe, your brother is safe, and everything is alright.  Just calm down.  Good, breathe slowly, very good...** ” 

The Cage faded completely, leaving only the warm cocoon of feathers and colors.  “C-Cas?” Sam stuttered through the receding panic. 

“Yes, Sam,” came the calm reply from over Sam's shoulder.  The arms relaxed enough to allow Sam to turn and face him.  Blue eyes met hazel and Sam felt no judgment or suspicion in the gaze.  Before either could speak again, however, a third voice spoke up reminding Sam of who else was there.

“Cas!  What the hell is going on?” Dean's voice was deceptively calm but Sam could still feel the anxiety and aggression hidden beneath the even tone. 

Sam watched the slight frown form on Castiel's brow as the angel gave his usual long-suffering sigh—the one saved just for when Dean was demanding and impatient.  The curtain of feathers withdrew and Sam could again make out his brother and the familiar woman.  Both were hovering in the hallway entrance with Dean keeping the woman slightly behind him. 

“I'm not entirely sure what is going on, Dean, although I am fairly certain Hell has nothing to do with it.”  Castiel's eyes traced every inch of Sam's face and seemed to be looking beyond the physical realm.  His gaze moved down the smaller torso and stopped on the bare feet.  “Perhaps we should move to a more comfortable location.  Sam needs something warmer than this shirt.  I believe his new, smaller body is struggling to maintain a normal temperature.”

His words were met with a brief silence before Dean's confused, “What?”

Another sigh from Castiel.  “Sam is cold.”

“Well, why didn't you just say that?” grumbled Dean and Sam felt his brother's suspicion fade to concern, “Of course he's cold!  Look at him—he's what? Six or seven years old?”

As the tension and adrenaline drained away, Sam noticed that he actually _was_ cold and that a tremble was growing in his limbs.  His fingers grasped on to Castiel's trench coat when he felt his knees weaken in exhaustion.  The angel's arms tightened in response and before Sam could blink he found himself raised up closer to his usual eye-level. 

Mortification made his whole body tense as he realized Castiel was holding him like a child.  “Stop it, Cas!  I can still walk!” Sam pushed against Castiel's chest, trying in vain to slip the grasp, “I'm smaller, not injured.  Seriously, dude, put me back down!”  The hand covering his back held Sam in place against Castiel's chest as the group began moving toward library—the only space with both a fireplace and couches. 

“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean sounded like he was smirking, and a glance over Cas' shoulder confirmed for Sam that his brother was barely containing a laugh, “I'm pretty sure you would have face-planted if Cas hadn't caught you. You should probably enjoy being swept off your feet while you still can, princess.  I'm sure we'll find a fix for this and you'll be towering over us all again in no time.” 

Sam glared at his brother, but the sight of the woman distracted him.  His mind raced to try and place where he'd seen her before.  She was wearing jeans several sizes too large and one of Dean's favorite Metallica shirts.  He opened his mouth to ask about her when he felt a spike of anxiety wrapped in what he thought was happiness.  A look back at Dean revealed an excited grin that lit up his entire face—a rarity for either Winchester.  His brother kept glancing at the blonde beside him and the happiness mingled with love.

Confusion only added to the feelings of irritation and helplessness in Sam.  He hated being vulnerable and defenseless.  He hated not knowing what was going on around him.  Most of all, he hated feeling out of control.   The uncertainty of the situation was too similar to scenarios Lucifer would create in the Cage. 

Pushing that line of thought aside, Sam tilted his head and continued staring at the woman.  “Dean, who...” His words were cut off when the world tilted and the ceiling filled his vision.  The sensation of falling had him tightening his hold on the angel.

Castiel chuckled as his hands gently moved to untangle himself from Sam's death grip, “I cannot let you down if you do not let go, Sam.”

A glance down showed that they were hovering over the couch in what must have been an awkward and humorous sight if Dean's bark of laughter was any indication.  Sam released his grip and allowed himself to fall into the cushions.  A moment later a blanket was wrapped around his shoulders and tucked under his legs.

Blue eyes filled his vision once again as Castiel knelt in front of him, his hands warming the blanket with a touch of his grace. 

“Thanks Cas,” Sam said, shyly ducking his head from all the attention. 

“Jeeze, and I get accused of being a mother hen,” Dean muttered as he sat next to Sam on the couch. 

“I am not a chicken, nor have I given birth.” Castiel said in a deadpan voice, but the slight crook of a smile proved the angel's amusement and understanding of the joke. 

Dean rolled his eyes before focusing on Sam.  “So, you want to fill us in on how you got turned into a munchkin?  Was it witches, like what happened to me a couple years ago?  Cas said there was a woman here who banished him.”  His voice trailed off as he waited for an answer.

“No, I mean yes,” Sam sighed, trying to figure out how to explain.  “Yes, there was a woman here.  She said she was from the Men of Letters in Britain, so I don't think she was a witch,” he picked at the blanket as he tried to order his jumbled but vivid memories, “It all happened so fast.  She said she was here to take us in... something about being tried for our crimes against humanity.  I told her I wouldn't go.  She shot me...”  His fingers reached up to feel unblemished skin on his shoulder where the wound had been.

“What!?” Dean shouted as he pulled the blanket from Sam in an attempt to check for injuries and bullet holes.  “Where?  We saw the blood, but I wasn't sure...” his hands flew over the younger brother's body in the familiar routine of a post-hunt evaluation.

Sam squirmed and batted at Dean's hands when they tried to pull aside the shirt covering his chest, “Quit, Dean, I'm fine.  I was healed.”

That stopped Dean's movements and the hands settled on Sam's shoulders to turn the boy toward him.  Green eyes bore into his, searching for even a hint of pain or deception.  Both brothers had a history of downplaying and hiding injuries.  “Who healed you, Sam?  I know it wasn't Cas—he met us outside the bunker and had no idea what happened after being banished.  So, who else was here?”

“It was Chuck,” Sam said in a small voice.

Dean's jaw dropped and Castiel gave a sharp inhale.

“Who's Chuck?”  All three men jumped as the woman spoke for the first time since Sam had seen her.  She was sitting on the couch across from them, her face full of worry and confusion. 

Sam stared as her voice triggered memories from a time before the Cage.  He remembered the devastation of watching Dean and her interact as he stood, unseen and unacknowledged in his brother's heaven, longing for this woman he had never known. 

“Mom?” his voice cracked and he was suddenly drowning in a sea of emotions.  Love, fear, joy, excitement, and confusion flooded from the two full-sized humans.  Sam shut his eyes and folded in on himself, trying hard to remain grounded and not get lost in the waves.  He felt a hand rest on the back of his head and the tide diminished.

Dean's worried voice and Castiel's low rumble filtered into his ears but he couldn't answer as he focused on breathing in relief. 

“He is fine, Dean.  Whatever was done to Sam has made him incredibly sensitive and open to the emotions of others.  I suspect he is simply overwhelmed, but I am shielding him now until he is better capable of doing it himself.” 

“What do you mean?” Dean demanded, “What _exactly_ was done to him?”

Sam's scalp tingled as fingers moved through his hair in a gentle massage. 

“I don't know, but Sam is...he has grace.”  Awe filled Castiel's voice and it was enough to make Sam open his eyes.

“Sammy,” the boy's gaze met his brother's worried eyes, “ _what happened_?”

“I... I'm not sure.  Chuck showed up right after I was shot.  He sent the woman away and then He,” he gave a small shrug, “He said He wanted to heal me.”

“He healed a bullet wound by making you a little kid?” Dean's face scrunched up in confusion.

“No, He—He said He wanted to,” Sam tried to swallow as his stomach rolled with anxiety, “He wanted to heal my soul.  He said it was scarred and dying, or something, and that the only way to do fix it was to fill in the cracks with His grace.  He said it would change me, but He never mentioned anything about _this_!”  Tiny hands gestured at his new, pint-sized body.  He exhaled in a rush, hugging his knees to his chest in an attempt at self-soothing.  There was one more thing to say, and it was the hardest to admit.  “He said I wouldn't be _entirely_ human anymore.” 

The silence was too loud and too long.  Sam wanted to disappear inside the folds of the grace-infused blanket.  He pulled it back up over his shoulders and huddled into it.  Avoiding eye contact with anyone, he stared at his covered knees and waited for the inevitable explosion.  And braced for the possible rejection.

He heard Dean take a shaky breath before speaking in a low tone.  “And what exactly does that mean?”

Sam shrugged and shook his head, “Not sure.  Chuck said He didn't really know either.  Something similar to the Nephilim maybe.” 

“Cas?  You got any divine insight for us?”

“He is not a Nephilim,” Castiel responded, dropping his hand to the base of Sam's neck to gently ease the building tension in the boy's muscles.  “The Nephilim were children born from a union between angels and humans.  Heaven forbid their existence when most were born insane and feral.  They became a danger to all creation.  But Sam is different.  I... I have never seen anything like it.  His soul is completely merged with grace.  I imagine he closest resembles an archangel fledgling, however they were created long before the seraphs so I can't be certain.”

"So, who is Chuck?” Mary Winchester asked again. 

Sam glanced up at her, but saw no disgust at the revelation that her youngest was no longer human.  In fact, Sam thought she looked like it was taking every ounce of her self-control not to push the two larger men out of her way and sit closer.  Her hands kept alternating between being tightly clasped together and then rubbing her palms against the baggy jeans to wipe away sweat.  The gesture looked familiar and it took a second for Sam to realize that _he_ did the same thing when nervous.  Mary saw him looking her way and gave him a hopeful smile.  He returned it tentatively before turning to look at his brother. 

Dean was running a hand over his mouth—a sure sign that his mind was trying to process everything Castiel had just said.  He let out a sigh before answering their mother, “It's kind of a long story, but Chuck is...well, He's God.  Like the actual Judeo-Christian God.”

Mary's jaw dropped, “And God's name is Chuck?”

“When we first met Him, we thought He was a prophet.  At least, that's what the angels told us.  He was writing the new gospels, which just so happen to be the story of our lives.  Me and Sam, I mean.”  Dean shook his head as he thought back to the days of the apocalypse, and just how young and naive they had been.  He huffed a laugh, “They're called the _Winchester Gospels_ by the god-squad, but most humans know them as _Supernatural_.  A shitty fantasy book series with really weird fans. 

“Anyway, we just thought he was some stupid author who drank too much.  Then we were told He was actual a prophet of the Lord who had visions of our lives and profited by publishing the stories.  It wasn't until a week or so ago that we found out He was actually God.”

Sam's mind drifted as his brother spoke.  Memories and thoughts kept overlapping and running together.  Sensory and emotional overload was causing his head to pound, and exhaustion made distinguishing the past from the present difficult. 

Fear of Dean's rejection was creating a slideshow of every time Sam had broken his brother's trust.  But they weren't just hazy images like he was used to—they were completely immersive.  He felt the weight of the backpack he'd worn the day he left for Stanford.  Tasted the demon blood he guzzled in secret.  Heard the rage and hate of Dean threatening to hunt him, telling him he was a monster and vampire and not worth saving.

The hand rubbing his neck paused and it took him a moment to realize that someone was saying his name.  Castiel's worried face was closer than before and Sam had to force himself not to pull back. 

“Sorry,” he felt out of breath as he spoke, “What did you say?”

Castiel's frown grew.  “Are you alright, Sam?”

Sam nodded and winced as the headache ratcheted up several notches, threatening to become a migraine.

“You sure, Sammy?” Dean's concern was clear in both his tone and expression.  “Because you're, well...” his voice trailed off as he lifted his hand and used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe at Sam's face.  It was only then Sam realized his cheeks were wet and hot.  His brother's gentleness only caused more tears to fall and Sam was helpless to stop them. 

As much as Dean liked to tease him about being emotional and needing “chick-flick moments,” Sam rarely cried.  And now he had burst into tears more times than he could count in just a matter of hours.  He brought a hand out from under the blanket and rubbed a fist over his eyes trying to regain some semblance of control. 

“Yeah,” he choked out, “It's just a headache.  I can't...my mind is...there's too much!”  He didn't know how to explain what was happening in his brain.  Mostly because he didn't _know_ what was happening. 

“Too much what?” Castiel resumed running his fingers through Sam's hair as he spoke. 

“Too much everything! Things are too loud, too bright.  I think of something that happened a long time ago and I remember every detail.  It's kind of like flashbacks, but different.  And it all keeps bouncing around.  And it _hurts_!”  Sam scrunched up his face in frustration.

Castiel's frown melted into sad understanding.  “That is normal—for angels.  Our grace provides us with near-perfect recall, and allows us to experience the world on far more levels than earthly beings.  It is why you are feeling Dean and Mary's emotions.  I expect it will take some getting used to for you.”

“Can I turn it off?” he asked, desperation coloring his voice.

Castiel nodded and offered a small smile.  “With time and practice.  I will help you.”

“Thanks Cas,” Sam whispered.  His brain felt raw and he was too tired for a greater response. 

“Okay.”  Dean stood slowly, weary from his own adventures of the day.  “I think we all need some sleep.  Let's get pint-sized here into bed, and set up a room for mom.”  A thrill of joy ran through him just saying her name and he saw her eyes light up to hear it.  “Tomorrow we can figure more shit out.  After a celebratory resurrection breakfast.”

Without another word, Dean reached down and scooped up Sam with the blanket. 

“Hey!  Dean, what...why do you guys keep carrying me?”  Sam tried to squirm, but between the lack of adrenaline and the abundance of exhaustion his attempts were feeble at best.  Within a few steps he stilled and resigned himself to his fate. 

Dean laughed and held him closer.  “Dude, you can barely keep your eyes open.  And you have no socks, shoes, or pants.  You would totally face-plant the second your feet hit the floor.”  Sam saw Mary and Castiel trail close behind them as they all made their way to the bedrooms.  “Don't worry, we'll get you some clothes and stuff tomorrow.  I'm thinking Batman shirts and light-up shoes.” 

Sam's size did not diminish his ability to convey his opinion through facial expressions. 

Dean just laughed again, and Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd heard his brother sound so light.  “You might want to tone down that bitch-face, Sammy.  Don't forget we have a parent in our midst.”

Sam's face dropped and his eyes darted back to their mother who was walking alongside Castiel behind them.  But instead of disapproval he found delight and humor.  She smiled fondly at him.  “I see you inherited my death glare.  Your grandfather always said I could stop a ghost in its tracks and send it scurrying into the beyond with just a look.” 

Dean groaned dramatically as they entered Sam's room, “Well Sam, at least we know you came by it honestly.  Cas, you and I are in trouble if these two ever decide to gang up on us.  At least you've got your wings back.  We may need them if we have to make a run for it.” 

Sam huffed a laugh against his brother's shoulder as Dean sat on the bed with Sam still in his arms.  Contentment warmed him even more than the grace-infused blanket.  He saw their mother pick up the mess of blankets and sheets from the floor.  Suddenly, he didn't want to go to sleep.  He didn't want to close his eyes and risk waking up to a world where his family was dead and he was alone. 

His hands fisted in Dean's shirt when his brother tried to move him over to the mattress.  Sam knew if he let go then everyone would leave.  In their pre-bunker days, they would be sharing a motel room.  Sam would be able to see and hear his brother if he woke up from the inevitable nightmares that always followed their worst hunts. 

“Sammy?” Dean asked softly as he tried to pull away enough to see his brother's face.  Sam made a noise of protest and pressed in so tight it made his arms tremble with exertion. He missed the worried looks shared by the others, but felt Dean's arms shift to hold him closer instead of pushing him away.  “Talk to me, man.  What's got you doing your best octopus impression?”

“ **Please, no more alone.  Please stay, please keep me,** ” Sam whispered in a prayer to himself. 

“What?” Dean spoke as Castiel inhaled sharply. 

“He does not want to be alone,” Castiel translated before turning to leave.  “I will be right back.”

Dean sighed and rubbed Sam's back as the boy continued to repeat his mantra. 

“What language is he speaking?” Mary asked as she sat next to her boys, still holding the bedding. 

“Um, I'm not sure.  It kind of sounds like Enochian, but I've never heard him speak it before.”

“Enochian?”

“Yeah,” Dean cleared his throat as he realized where Sam would have learned the ancient tongue, “it's the language of the angels.”

“Oh,” she looked at her eldest and saw the pain on his face.  There was clearly a story here and she had the impression it wasn't one she would like. “I'm guessing that isn't something you can pick up in a book.”

Dean slowly shook his head and unconsciously began to gently rock his murmuring brother.  “No.  He spent a time with two angels a while back.  I... it's a long story.”  He gave his mother an apologetic look.

Mary nodded with a sad smile.  She had missed so much of their lives.  It would probably take another lifetime just to catch up on everything. 

They sat in comfortable silence until Castiel returned a minute later and gestured for them to follow.  He led them to one of the largest unused rooms.  It now had three beds and a small sofa.  Two of the beds had been pushed together in one corner and all three were covered in piles of blankets and pillows. 

“Dude!” Dean looked gob smacked.  “How...?”

“My grace is back to 'full-power,' as you say.  And even if it wasn't, moving furniture is far less taxing than creating it.” Castiel shrugged, but seemed pleased by Dean's reaction.

“So,” Dean looked from the room arrangement to his family and grinned, “slumber party?”

“This isn't exactly how I pictured my first sleepover for you boys,” Mary said wistfully as she moved to arrange the blankets on the double bed, “I imagined pillow forts and a bunch of rowdy six-year-olds running around on a sugar high.” 

“Why would someone make a fort out of pillows?  Or is it a fort _for_ pillows?” Castiel asked, confused. 

“You mean Meta-douche didn't download any pillow fort references for you?” Dean shook his head with a smile.  “The bastard.” 

Mary ignored the twinge of curiosity at yet another piece of information for which she had no understanding.  Instead, she focused on what she did know, “It's a thing kids like to do.  Gather all the pillows and blankets they can find and barricade themselves away from the annoying grown-ups.”

“I... see.” Castiel nodded, although the look on his face made it clear he really didn't. 

Once the beds for the brothers was ready, Dean sat down on the edge.  “Alright, Sammy, let's try this again.”  But when he tried to detach himself from his still-murmuring brother, Sam's voice grew louder and more distressed.  “Come on, Sam, I need to get changed.  Look at what Cas has done.  He set up a room so we can all stay together tonight.  Okay?”

Sam showed no sign of hearing Dean's words.  Castiel joined them on the bed and placed a hand on Sam's head.  “ **Samuel, you are not alone,** ” he allowed a touch of power into his voice and Sam went silent, “ **You need to open your eyes.  We are safe and together, and we will remain so.  Open your eyes and see.  There is nothing to fear here.** ”

Dean felt the boy's muscles relax slightly and was surprised when Sam turned his head toward the angel with open eyes. 

Castiel smiled at Sam.  “ **There you are, little one.  Will you sit with me while your brother changes his clothes?  I promise he will return and we will all stay together in this room tonight.** ”

Sam searched his friend's face and found only patience and honesty.  He gave a small nod and slowly tried to make his hands let go of Dean's shirt.   They were stiff from being clenched for so long, and he frowned at his disobedient limbs.  A large hand covered his small fist and he jumped, but the warm touch melted away enough tension for Sam to let go.  He reached tentatively for Castiel and was immediately welcomed into another embrace.  Feather tips brushed against his cheek as he leaned sideways against Castiel's chest.

“Whew, good job Cas!”  Dean said as he stood.  He reached down and ruffled Sam's much-shorter hair.  “Alright, kiddo.  I'll be right back.”

Sam's eyes followed him as he left the room.  As soon as he was gone, his gaze was drawn to the other figure in the room.  Mary was watching him with concern, and when she saw his attention move to her she slowly walked over and took Dean's place on the bed. 

“Hello, Sammy,” she smiled nervously.

“Hi,” he replied.  He consciously tried to memorize every detail of her face.  “I can't believe you're really here!”

“Well, I can't believe how big you and your brother are now.” Her smile grew when her son frowned dramatically as he raised his hands to eye-level.

“I used to be bigger than Dean.  How the hell am I supposed to hunt when I can't even hold a knife?”

Mary's smile fell at the mention of her sons' hunting.  She wanted to tell him that she'd never wanted him to be a hunter—never wanted him to even _know_ about hunting.  Fear twisted her stomach into knots when she imagined what his life had been like the first time he was this small.  Dean had told her a very condensed summary of how her death had driven John to abandon their home to avenge her.  But she didn't know Sam now, and wasn't sure if it was her place to say anything.

Castiel saved her by speaking instead.  “Sam, I doubt my father intended you to hunt right after taking such steps to heal you.  It will take a great deal of time for you to learn control of your abilities and acclimate to your new senses.”

“I know, but...” Sam sighed in defeat, “I didn't know 'a chance to heal' meant being a kid again.  I don't like it.  It feels weird.”

“Yeah, well, you look weird,” Dean's voice said from the doorway.  His hair was wet from a quick shower and he'd changed into sweatpants and an old t-shirt.  He carried another set of similar clothing which he handed to Mary.  “Bathroom's down the hall, second door on the left.  I laid out a new toothbrush for you on the sink, and the shower never runs out of hot water.”

She thanked him, and stood to go do just that when she stopped to bend down and press a kiss to Sam's head.  “I love you, Sammy.  And I'm so glad to be here with you boys.”  She turned and gave Dean a kiss on the cheek.  Then she surprised them all by doing the same to Castiel.  All three males stared in silence as she walked out of the room humming to herself. 

“Your mother is very kind,” said Castiel in a rougher-than-normal voice.  The brothers didn't comment, too stunned to speak.  The angel cleared his throat, “Sam, would you like to lay down now?”

Sam nodded and climbed over the bed to lay on the one closest to the wall.  He watched with heavy eyes as Castiel stood, making room for Dean to lay down as well.  Castiel moved around to the sofa and sat down facing the brothers.  Dean fussed with Sam's blankets for a bit, tucking them around the small body before getting under his own quilt.  The silence hummed with nervous energy as they waited for Mary to return. 

“So, today's been...not how I expected.” Dean said quietly.  Sam let out a small, surprised laugh from under his blanket.  Dean propped himself up on an elbow to stare incredulously at the tuft of hair that was the only visible part of his brother.  “Dude, did you just giggle?”

Another laugh that sounded like music and chimes escaped Sam before he clamped a hand over his own mouth. 

“Oh my god, you did!  Do it again.  You've never laughed like that before, not even as a little kid.  Make the noise!” Dean dug professional fingers into the lumpy blanket and was rewarded with another squeal and pure joyful trill.  “How are you doing that?”

“It's his grace,” Castiel said, looking nostalgic and entranced, “It has been many centuries since I last heard a fledgling laugh.  I had forgotten how beautiful it is.”

It only took a few well-placed pokes before Sam was in a full-blown laughing fit.  His whole world had been destroyed and rebuilt in a day.  He had lost everything and gained back even more.  Joy and peace were like a balm on raw nerves and soon his laughter was joined by happy tears. 

Apparently, Dean could hear the change, and he gently pulled the blanket back to see his brother's face.  The boy was smiling, and crying, and laughing.  And clearly beyond exhausted.  Dean smiled at the sight before dragging the tiny bundle of brother closer to him.  “Alright, alright, calm it down there before mom hears and yells at us for being up past our bedtime.”

“Don't make me come over there.”  Mary stood in the doorway with a tired, but fond look on her face.  She walked over to them and took an extra blanket from the foot of the bed, shaking it out so it covered them both in an extra layer of warmth.  “Good night, boys,” she glanced at Castiel with a playful smirk, “and don't forget that angels are watching over you as you sleep.”

“That's because Cas is a creeper,” Dean said with a yawn. 

Sam was snuggled into his side, already asleep.  Castiel was safe and whole and staying.  And their mom was alive and _here with them_. 

Everything else could wait until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Come be my friend on Tumblr @theriverscribe  
> Comments feed my soul!


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